American cinematographer (Aug 1936)

348 American Cinematographer • August, 1936 The Camera Goes to See by Clark Foster L ast call for summer scenes! According to gal- loping pages on the calendar, the warm-weather va- cation days are getting limited in most sections. So it behooves us all to take stock of our outdoor footage and make out o requisition list of the shots needed to make our quota of summer pictures complete. Missing scenes which ore sorely needed to acquire smooth continuity will be out of reach within a few weeks. Or perhaps you are not one of the energetic vacation- ers with strenuous itinerary who cram many fevered miles within a set boundary of time and so are not presented with a continuous parade of colorful and intriguing scenes for your camera. Possibly you ore of fiber sufficiently strong to resist the lure of travel folders and cling to the original concept that 0 vacation should be an interval of luxurious leisure and rest. So you hie yourself to a favored retreat and prac- tically hibernate for awhile. Here, you may say, are few cinematographic opportun- ities. But wait. Let us go over the familiar ground again, this time with new eyes adjusted to cinematic pictorial composition. Many a time I have heard this protest from empty- handed cine lensers, ”Lve walked for miles in the country without seeing a shot. I could have taken a lot of at- tractive still photographs possibly, but there was practical- ly nothing to film.” This with a stiff breeze rustling the branches and streams and banks of clouds scudding across the sky! The countryside, on farm, in mountains, at the shore— can provide superb material which offers endless possibil- ities for taking films of great artistic beauty. As usual, everything depends on how you go about it. As you go rambling with your camera, make these strolls and hikes deliberate quests for filmable scenes. With this new attitude toward the environment of your favorite retreat, it will take on a new and greater appeal. You will find vistas and nooks and shaded dells you never before fully evaluated. There will be but a modicum of visual action to your picture and certainly na plot. The film will be essentially of the documentary category. But it will possess and pre- serve the endearing characteristics of the locale for the satisfaction of your own memory in time to come. Not an inconsequential item in this changing world. As you plan your film, ponder these questions. Why does that favorite district appeal to you? What attracts you? Wherein lies its charm and its inviting appeal? For what attracts you will doubtless interest others who sit before your screen. Is it the many streams or lakes that shimmer and trickle in the summer sunlight, is it the quaint sleeping villages or their rustic inhabitants, is it the calm depths of the woodlands, or the imposing heights of majestic mountains? Is it the wide expanse of drowsy veranda, the delicious quietude of the setting, the magnet of heaping platters of home-cooked country victuals? Whatever these main characteristics, they are the prov- ender for your picture. Commonplace? Certainly. And therein lies the deep-rooted human interest of your sub- ject—and the challenge to your camera talents. Fortunately you ore in no hurried schedule. You have time—and the patience, I hope—to evolve treatments that will lift these commonplaces to high cinematic charm. It pays to exercise care and thought in selecting the most effective point of camera vantage. You can afford to observe the settings at various times during the day to capture the fullest values of light and shadow. In woodlands, flickering lights form engaging kaleidos- copic patterns. On streams and pools and lakes, changing light values and directions provide infinite variety of pho- tographic studies. Sunrises, if you awaken that early, and dawn offer un- common soft and delicate touches. Sunsets present gor- geous arrays of light and color when banked against cloud formations. Winding lanes, the old farm houses and outbuildings, the aged fences or stone walls, a forgotten mill, trees that are tall and gnarled or round and plump—all may be so familiar to your eyes their intrinsic beauty is lost, but your camera will capture their earthy enchantments. At the shore, you pass by the current crop of bathing belles for art studies of the weathered fishing smacks and their equally weathered crews, the sea-going seines and fishing tackle, the wharves and tottering ancient piers on moss-covered pilings, the crash of surf against jutting rocks. Continued on page 353